the writings of a manboy with a spotted bed sheet

Semi-Fiction: Minutes of Instagram

The boy is sitting in his chair in the middle of the dull city, tolerating the hot air that is drowning him. He decides to surf around in his phone to see if there is anything that could make him feel life is worth living. He fires up his Instagram, and starts scrolling down for a few minutes, and, hey! This guy has put pictures of his travel in Croatia. “How interesting,” the boy thinks. “I wish I could go there. The statues look cool.” Then he scrolls down a little further. A friend has put pictures of a marvelous local dish from a small city in Finland. “That looks delicious.” And he moves his finger fast, trying to avoid another look at the colorful food thousands of kilometers away, only to find that his cousin has stated that he is exhausted after a day-long tour in Madrid. His finger is now in full speed, touching the screen ferociously, letting the pictures pass with only a trail of blur. At the same time, he tries to waver the thought that his last overseas trip was six years ago. At last, he succeeds and stops the commotion in the screen. He takes a look at the picture under his thumb. The nice friend is in Tokyo, sushi in his stomach. He says he hasn’t liked the taste. “Fuck you,” the boy calmly utters.